Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (31 page)

“I was hoping we could have tea together.” Iris was groomed as impeccably as ever, but she no longer wore black. Her mourning attire had been dispensed with shortly after Michael Eldridge had entered their lives. Today she was dressed in a jade pants-
and-
tunic outfit, complemented by a breathtaking diamond-
and-
emerald brooch. “Michael’s coming by later.”

Hope was glad she had a legitimate excuse for being absent from the house during his visit. “I’m sorry, but I’ve made plans with my mother for the evening.” No use telling Iris what those plans were. Mentioning Brant Colter’s name was bound to stir up painful memories for her, since it had been Brant’s uncle who had confessed to kidnapping Adam.

“I understand.” Iris sat down on the edge of Hope’s bed and watched her put the finishing touches to her makeup. “You look lovely, my dear. I’ve always thought that color was very becoming to you.”

“Thank you,” Hope said, inspecting the lavender silk dress in the mirror. Was it too short? She was thirty-
two, after all. Hardly matronly, but not an ingenue any longer. Opening the lid of her jewelry box, she withdrew a strand of pearls that Andrew had given her for one of their anniversaries, the year he’d gotten himself the Porsche.

Hope held the necklace to her dress. “Yes,” Iris said approvingly. “Pearls are always appropriate.”

Hope fastened them around her neck, then picked up her bag. “Well,” she said, “I guess I’m off, then.”

“I’ll give Michael your regards,” Iris said.

Please don’t,
Hope thought, but she merely smiled at Iris before she turned to exit the room.

Hope’s car had been brought around a little while earlier, and as she descended the steps to the walkway, she saw the red Viper rounding the last curve in the drive. Michael was early.

Hope hurried across the cobblestone drive to the Jaguar, intent on making a getaway before he could reach the house. But Michael must have spotted her and accelerated, because before she could climb inside her car, he screeched to a halt in front of the house and hopped out.

“Hello,” he called. “Where are you off to all dressed up?”

Hope hesitated. Politeness dictated that she wait and make small talk with him, no matter how uneasy he made her. She glanced up at the house. A curtain moved in Iris’s sitting-
room window. She was up there watching them, Hope realized.

“I’m meeting my mother,” she said noncommittally.

He walked toward her. “I love that dress,” he said, propping one arm on the Jaguar’s top.

“Thank you.” Hope glanced at her watch. “I hate to dash off like this, but I am running late.”

“Oh, well, in that case.” He straightened, tapping the Jaguar affectionately. “We wouldn’t want to keep Joanna waiting, now would we?”

He strolled off with his hands in his pockets, whistling some inane tune as Hope stared after him, her heart pounding and her mouth going dry. She got into the car, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t turn the ignition. How had he known her mother’s name? There was no way, unless…

Hope closed her eyes.
It can’t be,
she told herself. What she was thinking was incredible. Someone—Iris, maybe—must have mentioned her mother’s name to Michael. That was the only possible explanation.

But he’d used it so casually, so naturally, as if he’d spoken her mother’s name dozens of times before.

“Andrew is dead,” Hope whispered aloud. He had to be. Nothing else made sense. Why would he fake his own death, then deliberately pretend to be someone else? It would take a madman to try and pull off such a bizarre stunt.

Or a desperate one…

She stopped suddenly, as Jake’s words came rushing back to her.
“Andrew owed Pratt a lot of money. One way or another, Pratt always collects.”

Could Andrew have fabricated his own death in order to escape Pratt’s wrath? Hope had met the man, had seen firsthand what he was capable of. She could well imagine Andrew’s desperation.

But to perpetrate such an elaborate hoax would take a great deal of planning. Not to mention conspirators. Someone would have had to help him. Someone with a great deal of money and power, Hope thought suddenly, her gaze returning to Iris’s sitting-
room window.

“Oh, Hope. Don’t you see? It’s as if Andrew’s come back to us,”
Iris had told her the first day Michael had visited the mansion. And now Iris was no longer wearing black. No longer in mourning. She had even begun to hint that Hope and Michael…

Hope put trembling hands to her face. Did Iris know something no one else did? Was that why she had taken to Michael so quickly? Was that why she didn’t want him investigated?

No, Hope thought. She couldn’t believe that. She’d seen how grief-
stricken Iris had been when she’d learned of Andrew’s death. There was no way she could have been pretending. Unless, of course, she hadn’t yet known…

Stop it!
Hope commanded herself firmly.
Andrew is dead. Dead and buried, and that’s that.

But as she reached for the ignition, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her image seemed to be mocking her, reminding her that for over thirty years,
Adam
Kingsley was thought to have been dead and buried, too.

And they’d been wrong about him.

* * *

B
Y THE TIME
H
OPE
and her mother arrived at the church, Hope had managed to convince herself once again that her imagination was simply running away with her. There was something odd about Michael Eldridge, no question. He seemed to be deliberately trying to make her think he was Andrew. His mannerisms. The cologne. And now mentioning her mother’s name. But whatever sick game he was playing, Hope wanted no part of it. And by allowing herself to think for even one minute that Andrew could still be alive was playing right into the man’s possibly psychotic hands.

“Isn’t it a perfect evening for a wedding?” Joanna asked as she linked her arm through Hope’s. “You look so pretty tonight, Hope. You could be a bride yourself.”

“Don’t start,” Hope warned as they neared the church. But her mother was right. The day had been glorious, mild and sunny, and now twilight had fallen like the softest of blankets over the churchyard. The early stars burned in the eastern sky, bright and steadfast, and just barely visible over the horizon, the moon was rising like some ancient silver disk that had been polished a bit too thin around the edges.

The air smelled deliciously of cherry blossoms, roses and hyacinths. Wisteria plunged purple over the brick wall surrounding the church, and high in the gnarled branches of a locust tree, doves came home to roost, cooing as sweetly as an old love song.

It was a perfect evening for a wedding. A perfect night for romance.

Glancing up, Hope saw Jake at the entrance to the church. He wore dark gray pleated trousers with a sport coat and a white shirt, but no tie. He stood talking to some of the men gathered just outside the door, but as Hope and her mother approached, his gaze locked onto hers and Hope’s breath left her in a painful rush.

She thought suddenly of the way he had kissed her two nights before. Gently, almost wistfully. And yet there had been a hint even then of something more. Something deeper. Something…hotter.

Passion had never been in short supply between them, she remembered. They’d once had it all.

“There’s Jake,” her mother whispered. “Why don’t you go say hello?”

Joanna’s voice seemed to break the spell. Hope tore her gaze from Jake’s and glared down at her mother. “Mother, don’t.”

Joanna’s brows rose in innocence. “What? All I did was suggest you go say hello to an old friend. What’s so wrong with that?”

“You know exactly what’s wrong with it,” Hope replied. “You’re doing it again. Trying to get Jake and me together, and I want you to stop.”

Joanna let out a long, exasperated breath. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Hope? Why do you keep torturing yourself out of some misplaced loyalty to Andrew? You made a mistake ten years ago, but you’ve been bound and determined all this time not to admit it. I could admire that to a point. God knows, I’m no fan of divorce. A part of me has always been very proud of the way you fought to make your marriage work. But enough is enough, already. Andrew is dead, and there’s no point in pretending anymore. Now go on over there and say hello to Jake, before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Joanna’s mouth tightened into a thin, disapproving line. “See for yourself,” she said, nodding toward the entrance of the church.

Hope followed her gaze. Jake was still among the group of men gathered at the door, but a newcomer had joined them. Sissy McDonnell, a recent divorc;aaee, had established herself at Jake’s side and latched on to his arm as if she never intended to relinquish it. Hope remembered Sissy from college. She’d been something of a femme fatale even back then, and she’d always had a crush on Jake.

Seeing them together, Hope experienced an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. A sour taste in the back of her mouth.

“See what I mean?” Joanna nudged Hope with her purse. “A man like that won’t wait forever.”

* * *

A
S
J
AKE TOOK HIS SEAT
inside the church, he noticed that Hope sat two pews up and across the aisle from him, which allowed him a view of her profile every time she turned to speak to her mother. Her hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in the back with a pearl clasp, giving her an air of sophistication and elegance. But the lavender dress she wore was just plain sexy. Jake had always loved Hope in lavender.

She’d worn that color the first time they met, at the police department’s yearly picnic in Overton Park. He’d been a rookie, fresh out of the academy, with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “More brawn than brains” had been Hope’s first impression of him, she’d later told him.

Dan Sterling, Hope’s father and Jake’s immediate supervisor, had called him over and introduced him to his wife and daughter. Joanna had immediately taken him under her wing, clucking and fawning over him like a mother hen, introducing him around and making sure he got enough to eat.

Hope, on the other hand, had remained intriguingly aloof all day, reading a book or sitting alone, quietly watching all the rookies make fools of themselves, drinking too much, talking too loud, and trying to out muscle the more seasoned officers in a baseball game.

She’d been wearing white shorts with a lavender top that did incredible things to her eyes, and as Jake rounded the bases after hitting his third homer, he saw her watching him from the bleachers. He nearly missed home plate. When he came back into the dugout, he pointed her out to Brant Colter, another rookie.

“Hope Sterling? Forget it,” Brant had said. “You’re not her type.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Jake assured him. “I’m exactly her type. I’m going to marry that girl someday.”

Well, “someday” had never arrived, Jake thought now, staring at Hope’s profile. “Someday” had remained as elusive as a dream that he couldn’t recall the next morning.

The wedding march sounded, and everyone stood, turning expectantly to catch the first glimpse of the bride. Valerie entered the chapel slowly, on the arm of her father, a man who had spent over thirty years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Everyone inside the church was familiar with their story, and Jake suspected there wasn’t a dry eye in the place as the two of them walked down the aisle side by side. He saw Joanna openly dab at her eyes, while beside her, Hope’s face held an expression of such longing that it tore at Jake’s heart.

Was her sadness for Valerie and her father? For all the time that had been lost to them?

Or was her emotion more personal than that? Was she remembering her own wedding? Jake wondered. Or the wedding that had never been?

Was she thinking, like him, of another time and another place? That elusive “someday”…

* * *

T
HE RECEPTION WAS HELD
in a community center within walking distance of the church. Hope only intended to stay for a few minutes, just long enough to congratulate Brant and give her best wishes to Valerie. The two of them seemed so happy, so much in love that it was almost painful to witness.

But then before she could make her exit, it was time for the bride and groom’s first dance together. Then everyone started dancing, and before Hope knew it, she was swept onto the floor by first one old acquaintance, then another, and she spent the remainder of the evening reminiscing and feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time.

Maybe she still did belong here, she thought wistfully. After all these years, maybe she could still come home.

“Mind if I cut in?” said a deep voice over her partner’s shoulder—a voice Hope knew as well as she knew her own. A shiver of pleasure raced through her as she looked up to meet Jake’s gaze.

George Bailey, another cop who had been under her father’s command, frowned, his arms tightening around Hope. “Get lost, McClain.”

“Your wife’s looking for you,” Jake said.

George shrugged. “Which one?”

“The current one.”

George stopped abruptly. “Jeez, Karen’s here?”

Jake motioned toward the doorway. “Over there somewhere.”

“If you’re lying to me, McClain…” George’s gaze scanned the room nervously before he took off in the direction Jake had sent him.

For a moment, Jake and Hope stood facing each other. Then he smiled. “Dance?”

“You used to hate to dance,” she said.

He shrugged. “Times change. People change.”

Hope walked into his arms and felt them close around her. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, absorbing the sensations spiraling through her. Excitement. Attraction. And yes, even a little fear.

She shivered, and Jake pulled her even closer. Hope thought she caught a glimpse of her mother’s beaming face in the crowd, but she quickly dismissed it. She didn’t want anything, even her mother’s good intentions, intruding on this moment. Because if she tried hard enough, Hope could almost pretend the last ten years had never happened. She could almost believe she and Jake were still together, and that she had worn this lavender dress just for him.